THE BEGGAR
There was a man whom a king loved, and heard
With smiles his swift step and impetuous word
Among the slow-paced counsellors. To the young
Belong the careless hand, the daring tongue.
Pleasure and pride are the tall flowers that spring
Within the fertile shadow of the king.
There sat a beggar in the market-place,
Of sullen manner and a surly face,
Who caught him by the cloak; that with a stone
He smote the beggar's head, and so passed on,
Cassim Ben Ali, up the palace hill,
Leaving the beggar, fallen, grim, and still.
Sudden as the king's favour is his wrath.
Who for the morrow knows what joy he hath?
Nor can he pile it in his vaults to stay
The crowding misery of another day.
So fell Ben Ali for an arrowy word
And barbed jest that the king's anger stirred,
And he was led beyond the noisy brawls
Of traders chaffering at the market stalls,
And in a pit thrown near the city walls.
Whither the beggar came, and came alone,
A cobble in his hand, beside the pit.
"The wise man waiteth till the time is fit,
The foolish hasteneth to grief," he said,
Casting the cobble on Ben Ali's head:
"I am that beggar, and behold that stone."
Ben Ali on the morrow was restored
To the benignant presence of his lord,
And sending for the beggar, softly said:
"This is that stone."
The beggar bowed his head:
'"And this my head, which is among the lowly,
As thine is high, and God is just and holy,"
And threw himself lamenting on the floor.
Ben Ali pondered then a moment more.
"Thou sayest truly, God is just; and lo!
Both of our heads have ached beneath a blow.
I in my time grow wiser, and divine
The beating of thy head will not heal mine;
And have considered and have found it wise,
To exchange with thee some other merchandise.
Take this gold dinar, and remember then
That God is just, if so I come again
Into a pit and ask return of thee."
Once more Ben Ali was brought low, to see
The king's clenched hand, fixed look, and rigid frown,
Thrust from the palace gate to wander down,
Stripped of his silks, in poverty and shame,
Into the market where the traders came
With files of sag-necked camels o'er the sands,
Bringing the corded wares of hidden lands.
And walking there with eyes now wet and dim,
He sought the beggar, found, and said to him:
"Remember thine exchange of merchandise,
Who sayest, God is just and 'thou art wise."
"Who sayeth 'God is just,' speaks not of me;
Who calleth thee a fool, means none but thee,"
Answered the beggar. "For I understood
To pay the evil back and keep the good
Is increase of the good in merchandise;
Therefore I keep the dinar, and am wise."
Which thing was brought to the king's ear, and he
Summoned the two to stand before his knee,
And took the dinar from the beggar's hand,
And giving to Ben Ali, gave command
To those who waited for his word: "Bring stones
That he may beat with them this beggar's bones,
Who mocks at justice, saying 'God is just,'
And boasting wisdom, fouls her in the dust."
Ben Ali through his meditation heard
The counsellors approving the king's word,
And spoke above their even murmuring:
"Let justice be with God and with the king,
Who are not subject to a moment's chance,
Made and unmade by shifting circumstance.
This is the wisdom of the poor and weak:
The smitten cheek shall warn its brother cheek,
And each man to his nook of comfort run,
His little portion of the morning sun,
His little corner of the noonday shade,
His wrongs forgotten as his debts unpaid.
Let not the evil and the good we do
Be ghosts to haunt us, phantoms to pursue.
I have the dinar and would fain be clear
Of further trading with this beggar here;
For he nor I have caused the world to be,
Nor govern kingdoms with our equity."
"Art thou so poor then, and the beggar wise,
God's justice hidden, and the king's astray?"
Answered the king, slow-voiced, with brooding eyes.
"Art thou so weak, and strong to drive away
Far from to-day the ghost of yesterday?
Free is thy lifted head, while on mine own
The gathered past lies heavier than the crown?
So be it as thou sayest, with him and thee,
Thou who forgivest evil bitterly."
So spoke the king. Ben Ali's steps once more
Were swift and silken on the palace floor.
The beggar went with grim, unchanging face
Back to his begging in the market-place.